They turned back to Leslie Hewitt, who seemed to have dozed off.

“Leslie?” Thomas said.

The little man opened his eyes. “Thomas? Is that Thomas Hardy?”

“Yes, Leslie.”

“How very good of you to come and see me,” he said, beaming at them. He turned toward Stone. “And who might this be?”

When they returned to the restaurant, Thomas handed Stone a fax. “This came for you while we were gone.”

Dear Stone,

I cannot find a way to tell you how important this assignment has become, but the fact is, I have to spend as much time as possible with Vance Calder while he is in New York, which is for the rest of the week. I know how angry and disappointed you will be to read this, but there’s simply no way I am going to be able to get to St. Marks in time to go sailing with you, no matter how hard I try, so we may as well both face it now. I ask your forgiveness, and I look forward to your return.

Love,

Arrington

Stone wadded up the paper and tossed it into a wastebasket.

“Bad news?” Thomas asked.

“Is there any other kind?” Stone replied.

Chapter
8

Stone sweated through a nearly sleepless night, tossing in his berth, trying in vain to think of some tactic to abort this whole process. He rose at dawn, had a swim in the harbor and showered off the salt water, then forced down some breakfast. He left his chartered yacht, walked to the berth where Expansive lay, and went aboard. Below, he found a makeup kit in the head, and he chose a demure dress and some shoes from a clothing cupboard. In a drawer he found fresh lingerie and, feeling odd, chose some lace bikini panties. There were no bras in the drawer. He stuffed the lot into a small duffel he found in a locker. He was about to go up the companionway stairs when he stopped and looked around.

Allison Manning was an innocent woman, he was sure of that, but if there was anything incriminating on this yacht, he wanted to know about it. He certainly wasn’t going to tamper with evidence, but he needed to know what was here. He set down the duffel and went to the galley. He had no idea what sort of criminal investigation skills were available to the St. Marks police force, but he thought it wise not to leave a lot of fingerprints about. He went to the galley and found a pair of rubber kitchen gloves and put them on. Then he went to the bow of the yacht and started working his way toward the stern, looking at everything along the way. He paid particular attention to the chart table and bookcases, then moved on to the master cabin. He found nothing incriminating. Then he found himself staring at Allison Manning’s briefcase.